Prologue: Back in Time (full story coming soon)
by Graceinspace981
Summary: This is the prologue for upcoming story, Back in Time. The story follows Overwatch's Jesse McCree as he crashes his car in the desert and comes to in an unfamiliar place which he soon finds out to be the Team Fortress 2 RED Team base. Here, he comes face to face with the maniacal mercenaries and finds out that escaping this place won't be as simple as he thought.


Hi, everyone!

So...here's the surprise! Basically, it's a prologue to a story I've been working on. This story features Jesse McCree who, after a fateful car crash wakes up in a certain military base run by nine crazy guys. If you don't know who I'm talking about, you'll find out soon enough!

The reason this took as long as it did was because I was writing the second chapter. I was going to have this one be a four part series but I was having way too much fun with it and wanted to make it a full thing! So, without further ado, here is the prologue for my upcoming story, Back in Time!

Prologue: The Crash

About twenty-four hours ago, Jesse McCree had been feeling just fine. He had set out into the New Mexico desert with his peacekeeper in its holster, his belt buckle newly shined, and his rough but handsome beard clean as always. He had a plentiful supply of water and food (if you count sunflower seeds and leftover beans as food). Jesse was a man on a mission. And what might this mission be, you may ask?

He was on his way to catch the two outlaws who had been ravaging New Mexico's banks for the last few months. They were infamous for their sloppy but perfect technique. They went by peculiar names of Junkrat and Roadhog. There had been sightings of the pair sitting behind the wheel of a large storage truck (most likely stolen) that had the words "MEXICO OR BUST" painted sloppily on the side. Subtle. Real subtle.

Jesse was now cruising through the desert sand in his brand new 2057 Ford Viper. He held a fat cigar between his lips, letting the smoke roll out the open window. Jesse had quickly made himself at home in the truck, like he did in most new places. The strong stench of beans and beer floated around his nose. Any person in a logical state of mind would hate this smell, but Jesse was quite fond of it, being as crazy as he was.

He was almost out of food and water but wasn't in the least bit concerned. After all, he was almost at the border.

All of a sudden, the country music radio cut out. Feeling frustrated, Jesse took his eyes off the road to inspect the issue. Nothing was visibly wrong with the dashboard so he gave it a good punch. Harder than he intended. The music came back on, but a sharp pain hit Jesse's knuckles from their contact with metal and he used his other hand to grasp the aching one. When Jesse looked back up, he realized that he had missed a turn while his hands were off the wheel. The truck was now bumping forward rapidly through the sand. In his panic, Jesse carelessly grabbed the wheel and turned it in a random direction, which happened to lead him straight into a cluster of brambles through which he bounced until the truck came to a rough stop.

Jesse put his aching hand over his heart which was pumping so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He closed his eyes for a minute and waited for his body to stop shaking. Once he had calmed down, he reached for his cigar, but found his fingers clasp down on nothing. He looked down to see if the cigar had landed in his lap during the accident, but instead saw something that made his muscles tense up and his blood curdle. The cigar had landed on the seat next to him and was quickly spreading the fire throughout his truck.

"Holy shit!" he yelled as the fire reached the dashboard.

Jesse knew that it was only a matter of seconds until the truck gave in.

He squeezed the door handle and scurried out, leaving the leftover beans, water, and sunflower seeds behind in the burning vehicle. Jesse only made it two meters or so when the truck exploded.

The last thing he remembered before he was knocked out was a searing pain in the back of his head.

Jesse couldn't see a thing, but could hear voices. The first one was close to his face and unpleasantly loud.

"Is he alive, doctor?"

The second one was quieter.

"Back up, Heavy," it insisted, "You're breathing in my workspace."

"Yes, doctor."

There were loud footsteps as the man called 'Heavy' retreated.

Jesse felt something hard and metallic poke repeatedly at the side of his head.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," said a third, "Ma's got breakfast ready."

"Leave him alone, Scout," said the doctor.

Jesse's vision slowly came back and a fluorescent light took shape above his head. He began to feel cold sheets and a mattress below him. Where the hell was he?

That was when it all came flooding back to him. The mission. The cigar. The accident. The last thing Jesse remembered was that pain in his head. His hand shot up to the spot where the shrapnel had hit him in the back of his head and felt wetness. He brought his hand back down and stared in horror at what he saw. His hand was covered in blood and something else. Was that hair?

Jesse could now see the three men and sources of the talking crowded around him. One of the men was shuffling through a tiny, metal work table next to the bed. He had jet-black hair which was short and neat. He wore a tan-colored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a black vest over it. Tucked into the vest was a shockingly bright red tie. His bare hands were covered in blood. Jesse's blood.

"Uh...doc?" asked the man behind Jesse.

"What do you want now, Scout?!"

"He moved," Scout replied nervously.

"Heavy!" said the doctor, "Restrain him!"

Jesse tried to get up, but Heavy was already leaning over him.

"Shhh, little baby," he coaxed before clamping his giant hands down on Jesse's shoulders.

The man named Heavy sure did look the part. His fat stomach lumbered down on Jesse's midsection and made it hard for him to breathe. Heavy wore a t-shirt colored the exact same bright red as the doctor's tie.

Jesse had been held down like this countless times before. He knew what to do. He waited a few seconds to catch Heavy off guard. When the man's angry stare momentarily shifted to the doctor, Jesse made his move. As soon as he started to thrash and squirm like a fish out of water, Heavy wheezed with laughter and tightened his grip without even looking away from the doctor. Jesse didn't go anywhere.

"Easy, hot stuff," said the still unseen Scout with a chuckle.

Heavy groaned, a low sound like a whale call.

"I am hungry, doctor," he complained, "I want sandvich."

"I have plenty in the fridge," replied the doctor, "Hold him down, Scout."

"You got it, old man," said Scout.

Scout came out from behind the bed and Jesse got a good look at him.

Scout was a scrawny man (well, hardly even a man). He had a light brown buzz cut. Scout wore a t-shirt much like Heavy's but smaller. It was, unsurprisingly, a very familiar red hue.

Scout leaned a metal baseball bat against the bed. Jesse assumed that the bat was what had been prodding his head just five minutes ago.

After putting down the bat, Scout positioned his hand on the edge of Jesse's bed and hoisted himself up onto Jesse's stomach. Jesse was surprised to find that he hardly felt Scout's presence due to the lightness of the man-boy.

The doctor suddenly ceased his shuffling through the drawer and heaved a sigh of relief. He held something tiny above his head and examined it in the glow of the fluorescent light. Jesse suddenly realized what the object was. A needle and thread.

"Stay on top of him, Scout," muttered the doctor.

Scout adjusted his position while the doctor made his way to the back of Jesse's head.

Jesse cried out at the thought of this stranger putting a needle through his skull and began to squirm once again. He abruptly stopped at the push of two cold circles against his forehead.

"Nice try, hotshot," said Scout as he steadily held a double barreled scattergun against Jesse's head.

Jesse laid stiff as a board, paralyzed with fear.

"If you try anything, I ain't gonna hesitate."

Jesse now had a needle at the back of his head and a gun at the front.

"Easy does it," murmured the doctor.

Jesse felt a sudden burst of pain as the needle pierced his head and started to move in and out of the wound.

Jesse's eyes watered but, feeling the cold barrel pushed against his head, he didn't dare move an inch.

Loud footfalls approached behind Jesse as Heavy, who had already finished his sandwich (or two), walked over to examine the stitches.

"You did very good job, doctor," he remarked.

"Thank you, Heavy," said the doctor, "Now I just need to take care of one last thing."

Jesse gulped as the doctor walked over to the work table to retrieve another item. This time, he hid it under his vest so that Jesse wouldn't see it and struggle. If anything, not knowing what the object was just made Jesse more nervous. As Scout forced his gun down even harder with a smirk, the doctor disappeared from sight. The sensation Jesse felt next was much like that of the stitches entering his head but less painful.

Jesse suddenly realized in horror what it was. A syringe. While the doctor pumped medicine into Jesse's head, he began to feel dreary.

His eyelids became heavy and hard to keep open. Jesse passed out.


End file.
